


A Busy Night

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: CSI: Miami, Casino Royale (2006)
Genre: Bond did make a mess of Miami, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night Bond is in Miami, the CSIs are kept rather busy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Busy Night

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my livejournal, and beta'ed by sunhawk.

Ryan Wolfe was asleep, and very happy to be, when a phone’s shrill ringing woke him up. Rolling over, he narrowly avoided sending Eric out of the bed – he was still getting used to the whole ‘sleeping with another person’ thing – and reached over for his cell phone.

Mumbling a vague apology in Eric’s direction – which turned out not to be needed since the man hadn’t even awoken – he managed to hit ‘talk’ before the call was sent to voice mail and whispered a quick “Hello?” And really, Ryan wondered how Eric managed when he was the one on call. Come to think of it, Eric _was_ the one on call tonight, which meant this was…

“Ryan,” Horatio’s amused voice said, “I meant to call Eric. I must have made a mistake. Again.”

Ryan closed his eyes, mortified. It wasn’t the first time this had happened since he and Eric had started their… whatever it was, and thankfully Horatio was past asking questions. Not that he ever had in the first place. In fact, he hadn’t even seemed surprised that first time, and Ryan wasn’t sure whether he found that insulting or not.

“Yeah, probably,” Ryan silently groaned. Now he would have to be the one answering the call. He could say goodbye to a perfectly good night's sleep.

“Night shift needs some back-up, they’re swamped. I’m heading over to a crime scene right now, can you meet me there?”

“Sure, what’s the address?” Ryan asked, turning on the lamp on the bedside table to grab some paper. Eric made a muffled noise of protest and Ryan glanced at him, smiling at the sight his lover presented, a pillow pulled firmly over his head to block out the light. Not letting himself be (too) distracted, he finished writing down the address and turned his attention back to his phone. “Okay, got it. See you there.”

Ryan disconnected the call and leaned over to Eric, dropping a quick kiss on his temple.

“What’s going on?” a sleepy voice asked.

“Answered your phone again,” Ryan whispered. “Dead body at the Body Works exposition.”

“Have fun,” Eric mumbled before going back to sleep, out like a light.

Ryan rolled his eyes and forced himself out of bed, gathering his clothes, badge and gun before considerately turning off the light and slipping out of the room.

 

Thirty minutes later – you had to love Miami’s traffic at night – he met Horatio at the museum, a cup of coffee firmly in hand. Not surprisingly, H didn’t look ruffled at all, while Ryan knew he looked like someone who had just gotten out of bed and not had enough sleep. Then again, did H even sleep?

The room the body was in had been emptied of the visitors, who were milling around behind the yellow tape with interested looks on their faces, and Ryan followed his boss inside, nodding at the patrol officers.

And it was a bit… weird. Not that they hadn’t seen weirder, but still… There were three skeletons – which weren’t skeletons per say, considering they had muscles and all – playing poker, and their dead man playing forth, a knife still embedded in his chest.

“Weird,” Ryan mumbled, before he started taking pictures and dusting the table for prints. He finished just in time to see the ME arrive and they agreed they’d retrieve the knife at the lab. Less of a mess that way.

Then the body was wrapped up and taken out of the room, and H was back next to him, holding up security tapes. 

And it was back to the lab. With more coffee.

 

When they arrived there, the whole building seemed to be in a state of excitement. Which, considering there was minimal personnel at night, was saying a lot.

“What’s going on?” Ryan asked the first tech he saw, who started babbling about the airport and a bomb, and when Ryan did manage to get a coherent story, it seemed like terrorists had tried to blow up the new Sky Fleet prototype. One had ended up blowing himself up, and they would be bringing the other one in soon.

Intrigued, Ryan resisted the urge to linger and find out more, and went to work on his own case. The sooner he handled it, the sooner he would get back home. It was hard not to see echoes of the bombing though. While he was with the ME, getting the knife, the man was being booked, and when Ryan got back to his lab, there he was, in an interrogation room. Smirking, no less. Tall, blond, and handsome. Not the typical image you’d get in your head when someone said ‘terrorist’.

Shaking his head, Ryan got back to work. He lifted two sets of prints from the knife and ran them though AFIS along with their vic’s, who was still a John Doe. Setting up the video while he waited, he had barely gotten to the right time frame when the computer came up with a match. A surprising one at that.

Those from the dead man matched one of the sets from the knife, and access was restricted. Ryan sighed and wondered which agency would appear the next day, in the name of National Security. Just what he needed right now. He would have to warn H. 

The second set, however, was a surprise and Ryan had to double-check to make sure he was reading it right.

Because it would appear that second set was from the man they had just booked for the attempted bombing at the airport, who was otherwise unknown to the system.

Frowning, he went back to the security tapes and watched the scene at it enfolded. The image was grainy and not perfect, but he could clearly identify the man he had seen earlier in the interrogation room. He watched his deadly dance with the victim, and hit pause. There was something going on here, something very… hinky. From what he could see, that death had been self-defence, but there had to be something else. Something that would explain why his dead man had tried to kill the other man in the first place. 

Going back further on the tape, Ryan focused on the ‘vic’ – was he, really? – and his actions after entering the room. And it seemed… yes, he had just dropped something on that poker table. What was it? He would have to have an AV tech enhance it, the picture wasn’t good enough as it was. Then, ignoring the altercation taking place in the middle of the screen, Ryan focused on the left side, on the table, and blinked when he saw another man picking whatever it was up and heading towards the exit. Rewinding, he hit pause and printed a black and white picture of the third man. It didn’t look like much either, but it was a start. To whatever this was.

Ryan resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going back to bed anytime soon, and went to find Horatio.

 

“H, I think you should see this,” he said, moving to stand next to his boss outside the interrogation room holding the terrorist. H had been drafted into the bombing investigation earlier and now it seemed so was Ryan.

Holding up his file, he motioned towards the prints he had lifted from the knife, “It seems my vic was killed by your suspect, though from the looks of it it was self-defence. The access to the dead guy’s ID is restricted, I don’t know who he is. However, it seems there is a third man involved.”

Ryan retrieved the photo from the security feed and handed it to Horatio, who took in a sharp breath.

“Ryan, that’s the man who blew himself up at the airport.”

Ryan stared at the picture, then back at H. “Well, it looks like he and my vic were working together, and the man you arrested was keeping on eye on them. No idea why though.”

Horatio frowned and gestured that they both move into the nearest empty lab. 

“It seems we’re in the middle of a delicate situation here. Five minutes ago we got a call from the Secretary of State, saying we had to release him. Whoever he is, that man is well connected.”

“You’re thinking foreign operative?” Ryan asked, following his boss’s line of thoughts.

“Maybe. He isn’t talking and we’re not letting him go, that’s for sure. The only thing he had on him was a cell phone and the last number called was in England. Let’s see what that gives us,” H said, hitting re-dial and putting the speaker on.

They both patiently waited for someone to pick up, which finally happened after four rings.

“Mr Villiers’s office, how can I help you?” a female voice answered, sounding slightly harried.

“This is Lieutenant Caine, Miami-Dade police. I need to talk to your employer concerning a call he received earlier this evening.”

There was a slight pause at the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, sir, Mr Villiers is out of the office right now. Can I take a message?”

“Yes, you tell him to call me right back. Here is the number…” 

Ryan listened distractedly as Horatio gave his cell phone number, trying to piece together the puzzle.

Then they waited. 

Sure enough, H’s cell phone started ringing two minutes later.

“This is John Villiers, calling Lt. Caine back,” a cultured British voice stated confidently.

“Yes, this is Lt. Caine. We have a man in custody right now, and you happen to be the last number he called.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “Tall, blond, sarcastic?”

H confirmed. 

“Hold a moment please.”

They didn’t really have any choice in the matter, however, since the man started to talk to whoever he was with, the words muffled and incomprehensible. H and Ryan exchanged a curious glance and waited not so patiently for the man to return his attention back to them.

“The man you have in your custody is a MI-6 operative,” Villiers finally said. “He wasn’t working with the terrorists, he was trying to stop them.”

“You’ll understand that I can’t take your word for it. Is there anyway you can confirm this?”

“We’re on our way to Miami right now, with the proper identification papers,” Villiers informed him, and H wisely chose not to ask who was ‘we’. 

“We’ll see you then,” Horatio hung up, looking thoughtful.

“What do you think?” Ryan asked.

“With what you’ve found, I’d be tempted to believe him. We don’t have all the cards though.”

“Maybe I can talk to him,” Ryan volunteered. “About the events before the airport. Get to know the players.”

Horatio considered it, and nodded. “I’ll talk to the Captain.”

Ten minutes later, Ryan was authorized to question the prisoner. As it turned out, no one else was eager to talk to him now – be it because of the man’s personality or the Secretary of State’s warning, Ryan couldn’t say. Later, he would have to guess it was probably both.

 

Ryan stepped into the interrogation room, eyeing the man carefully. He was bloody and smelled strongly of gasoline, but Ryan wasn’t blind. He had no doubt he could be dangerously handsome.

Sitting down on the other side of the table, Ryan was fully conscious that the man was looking him up and down, and making no secret of it. A slight smirk was still playing on his lips, and Ryan found himself fighting back a blush, thanking God that Eric wasn’t there. 

Dangerous indeed.

“What’s your name?” he asked, despite the fact that dozens had asked the same question since he had been brought in a few hours ago, and never gotten an answer. Predictably, Ryan didn’t either.

“Look, we know you work for MI-6 – we spoke to your boss, Villiers? He is on his way here.”

That seemed to get the man’s attention and if Ryan hadn’t known better, he might have said he looked pleased. 

Finally, the man nodded, as if he had come to a decision.

“You can call me James.”

“James. Well, we’ve got a few questions for you. For starters,” Ryan opened the file he had brought in with him and slid over a picture of the dead man, “who is that guy?”

‘James’ – if that was even his real name – glanced briefly at the picture, his face betraying nothing but slight amusement as he lounged back on his seat like he had no care in the world, “That would be Alex Dimitrios.”

“Okay…” Ryan wrote the name down, “what can you tell me about him?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid,” and there was the smirk, back in full mode. “Ask your CIA.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. As if the CIA was going to tell them anything.

“What about him?” he asked, pointing at the picture of the other terrorist.

“No idea,” James shrugged.

“How about how he came to blow himself up?” Ryan tried.

“Don’t know either. He probably couldn’t stand the thought of failure.”

Ryan couldn’t quite bite back a snort at that and ended up coughing to cover it. The dark satisfaction in James’ eyes made his amusement fade somewhat.

And so it went on and on, with no real answer – as far as Ryan could see anyway. What he did see though was that he was way out of his league.

 

When the sun finally appeared over Miami, Ryan was longing for yet another cup of coffee and for an excuse to leave the interrogation room. James, however, was in the middle of telling a rather convoluted story about some married woman he had seduced in the Bahamas – and really, who cared? – and flirting outrageously with Ryan – who did notice this kind of things from time to time. Then again, he would have to be blind not to in this particular case.

“You know, you should give me your name,” James suddenly said out of the blue, “I’ll drop by the next time I’m in Miami.”

Ryan sputtered a little before regaining his composure.

“Sorry, but I’m taken.”

“I know. Your boyfriend has been glaring at me for the past five minutes,” James said casually and Ryan couldn’t resist turning around.

Sure enough, there was Eric, glaring daggers at James, who seemed to find it highly amusing. And Ryan really didn’t want to know if anyone else was listening to this conversation.

When he turned back towards the MI-6 agent, he found him leaning close towards him.

“It only makes you more appealing. And I don’t really need your name. Unlimited access, remember?” he whispered, and this time Ryan couldn’t stop the blood from infusing his cheeks. 

He could almost hear Eric growling from behind the glass.

Thankfully, it was then that Horatio arrived, followed by a man in a suit and James subtly sat a little straighter.

“Where is she?” he asked and the man ignored him completely, instead turning towards Horatio. “Here are the papers. I hope you’ll find everything in order.”

He spoke with a British accent, and Ryan could only deduce it was Villiers. He took this as his cue to leave the room behind H and moved to stand next to Eric outside the room, watching the two men inside with curiosity.

“What did he say?” Eric asked him, standing closer than he usually did when they were in public, and not caring who saw them. He was pissed.

“Nothing important,” Ryan reassured him before turning quiet when the two British men started talking.

“Next time, you could consider cooperating with the local forces _before_ getting arrested,” Villiers said, clearly annoyed. “We wouldn’t have to fly half-way across the world to get you out of jail.”

“She mad?” James asked, sounding almost hopeful.

“She isn’t happy.” Villiers conceded, sitting down in front of him and pushing a tissue towards him before realizing James was still handcuffed. “And don’t look so pleased with yourself,” He paused for a second before adding, “You smell.”

“Gasoline will do that to you. Which you would know if you left the office more often.”

Villiers’s eyes narrowed, and James seemed to be enjoying himself profoundly.

“I find it very tempting to leave you here right now.”

“Nah, you would miss me.”

Villiers snorted, probably thinking his life would be so much simpler if he didn’t have 007 to worry about – and clean up after.

“By the way, how are you enjoying your ‘vacation’?” Villiers retaliated, and James didn’t let it phase him one bit.

“Fantastic. By the way, how did they come to believe you’re my boss? I should have told them you were just the secretary.”

“I am _not_ –”

The argument – an old one from the looks of it – was interrupted by Horatio’s return, along with the news that everything was in order. James was freed from the handcuffs and he stood up, rubbing his wrists.

“Here,” Villiers shoved a bag in his hands as they stepped out of the interrogation room, next to Eric and Ryan. “Lt. Caine has kindly agreed to allow you to use their showers. Get cleaned up and change.”

“Third door on the left,” Ryan provided helpfully.

James smirked and started moving into that direction, pausing briefly behind Villiers to whisper something in his ear. Ryan wasn’t sure, but he could swear he heard the words ‘join me?’ From the way Villiers turned slightly pink and glared harder at the other man, he was probably right.

Looking bemusedly at Eric, who still didn’t look happy about the whole situation, Ryan contemplated kissing him right here and there to assuage whatever insecurities were going through his mind, but decided it would cause more problems than it would solve.

He settled for a wishful, “I need coffee,” and pulled Eric behind him towards the break room.

Thirty minutes later, he looked up from his report on the events of the night – one that would probably get lost, along with all the evidence and interview tapes – to catch a sight of ‘James’ and Villiers on their way out. They looked good together, he briefly noted, wondering if it was just James being James or if there was more to it. Bits of their conversation reached his ears, something about a helicopter and the Bahamas, and Ryan decided he didn’t want to know.

He had enough on his plate with Miami’s daily crimes. And Eric.


End file.
